


ZenoHika Week Winter 2021 - Day 3: The Sword and the Flower

by Ivelia



Series: ZenoHika Week Winter 2021 [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, ZenoHika Week Winter 2021 (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivelia/pseuds/Ivelia
Summary: This is my entry for the Day Three of ZenoHika Week Winter 2021 \o/The prompts for this are "Historical AU / Courtship / Sword" so today's protagonists are:Noble Lady's loyal knight" WoL x "Foreign prince here for an arranged marriage" Zenos.It's more fantasy-ish than history, because I was to lazy to research a proper time period where this scenario would work but...Don't think about this too much, let's follow the rule of cool \o/
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Series: ZenoHika Week Winter 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135964
Kudos: 9





	ZenoHika Week Winter 2021 - Day 3: The Sword and the Flower

**Author's Note:**

> Like Day Two (and probably all other days unless I find a time extension pocket or something) this is, actually not the complete piece I intended, but... a teaser of sorts? Like, not really an extract (I may reword things) but a proof of concept, kinda?  
> Because once again I underestimated the flow of time, and only finished Day One in the given time frame aaaaaaa Yet I can't not submit anything on the day aaaaa  
> So in the meantime, have this \o/ I will come back someday (soon, or at least before we all die of old age xD) with the full piece, hopefully this can serve as a taste of the final thing?

As he read the letter that a messenger with _high self-preservation instincts_ had abandoned on his breakfast table, Zenos’ grip on his glass tightened, almost to the point of shattering it.

\- “That meddling old man…” According to the content of the letter, his sire had taken _arrangements_ with his current host, the Duke, to make sure that this marriage alliance would go without any issue. In his words, the duel for the hand of the young Lady Lily would be nothing but a _‘formality’_ to appease the populace. After all, the Warrior of Light, her personal guard, had mercilessly crushed all her suitors regardless of status, so if they gave away their precious Lily without a fight, it would be too obvious that the empire had bullied this small province into this agreement.

With a jaded sigh, he resumed his meal. This had been the only thing he looked forward to on this trip, and now… He couldn’t care less about that future bride, even if she was hailed as the most beautiful, pure, or whatever quality most nobles wanted for their trophy wives, and the sole highlight of their first meeting had been when her loyal guard dog had thrown down the gauntlet, under the scandalized eyes of the nearby members of the local nobility. He had wanted to accept the challenge from the masked youth, right here and then; but some members of the assistance insisted it would be inappropriate, and the duel had to be postponed. Unfortunately, this small delay had been sufficient for useless politicking to throw a wrench in his plans.

Due to their interference, this rare occasion to cross swords with a worthy opponent would turn into a parody of itself. Or so they hoped; he had no intention of participating in this farce. Not that he would not go, but… _Holding back_ had never been in his vocabulary: as always, he would fight with his full might, and if his foe valued their life, they would have to do the same. If they didn't, then... It just meant that they valued the lies of their masters more than their own existence; in this case, the faster they died, the less time he would waste on the whole ordeal.

* * *

The appointed hour arrived. Facing this grand arena, anyone other than him would have marvelled at the lack of taste of the Duke -after all, that crowd had been gathered to witness the engineered fall of an admired hero- but he didn’t even register the pomp and circumstances; the only thing that mattered to him was the lean knight in light, shining armour that stood in front of him, and whether or not they would live up to their reputation. Following some talk he didn’t pay attention to, a young lady (probably that Duke’s daughter) dropped her handkerchief to the floor to mark the start of the confrontation; but before he could communicate his intent to have a fair, _real_ battle, a blade travelling at high speed toward his vitals interrupted him. The clanging noise as his sword parried the blow seemed to echo for an eternity in the noisy arena.

\- “Tch. You _do_ have some skill.” The muffled, soft spoken voice that came from his opponent's helmet belied the very _real_ killing intent behind that blow; had he been fractionally slower, the contest would have already been decided. Not at all what he would have expected from a fixed duel. “Ah, you seem surprised”, the voice continued, as its owner moved back to a safe distance and noted the lack of counterattack. “The Duke might have made arrangements for this, but... I answer to my Lady alone. And she does not want you. So I’d appreciate it if you stopped bothering her, and called this farce of a marriage off. Otherwise,” Another vicious slash to parry. “Please do forgive my impertinence”. 

Under his grim, white faced helmet, he smiled. _Good_. It seemed that they had been on the same page all along; that would spare him the trouble to explain his intentions, and hopefully, provide him with some entertainment for the next few minutes. While he had no interest in the circumstances of this fight, he still asked provocatively, his stance wide open as if to invite the other’s attacks:

\- “And if I refuse?”

\- “Then, I'll have to teach you to mind your manners when dealing with fragile ladies, using _the power of violence._ ” A trace of playful mirth could be heard as his opponent’s pose shifted slightly, weapon raised in preparation for their next assault: “Whether you finish this on your knees surrendering, or carried out feet first, will be your choice - _as long as you are still able to talk_ , that is”.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this brought you some entertainment \o/  
> And I hope I'll get to write the full piece before the end of this millennia...


End file.
